


Waiting for Signs

by heathercat56



Series: Sympathy for the Devil - Outlander's Most Hated [1]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7833802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathercat56/pseuds/heathercat56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laoghaire tried so hard to atone - but she sabotaged herself instead.<br/>TW: Domestic Violence</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for Signs

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing how the writers on the show were attempting to redeem Laoghaire to help justify how Jamie might be persuaded to marry her, I thought I'd take on the challenge of writing a piece from her POV. The purpose here is to try to bridge the gap between how we as fans (from Claire's POV) see her versus her own history and the situation she's found herself in.  
> I'm really not trying to make you like her - I swear. 
> 
> Amazed thanks to SpinsterClaire for all her edits, thoughts and assistance in making this make sense and getting it off the ground. Couldn't have done it without you, doll. *Muah!*

 

Hours later, past the point of sorrow and apathy, Laoghaire needed to scream. She went out to the field furthest from the livestock and her daughters, not wanting to alarm either of them. With every step towards the distant fence line, she choked on her anger and her failure.

She had begged God for this marriage for years - decades, even - and now that she had what and whom she wanted, she found it was all a waste. A desperate, stupid teenage fantasy.

\-----

The night of the wedding, when she and Jamie first lay together, his meek attempts at readying her were met with stares and stutters. She was so nervous and desperate to do everything in her power to show her gratitude that instead she froze and became a stiff ragdoll in his arms; she swallowed her disappointment and pushed down the pain at his quick entry and short-lived thrusts. She had imagined this moment for years, decades: the clouds parting, the angels singing. She thought she would see God or the Blessed Mother in the weave of thatch above the bed. So when when the angels and God and Mother Mary failed to manifest, she drew only one conclusion...

She had sinned and led such a wicked life that God was punishing her again. Avarice, impure thoughts, jealousy and greed were sins, and this was His punishment: she would never feel pleasure at the hands of her true love.

Seventeen years after Culloden and seventeen years after _she_ had died, the fetch Jenny and Laoghaire had seen at the wedding was much more than an apparition. It was a warning from God.

She sought out Father Bain the next day - he was always ready with advice as to what the Bible would have her do. When she found him on a small pathway outside Cranesmuir, she dissolved into tears while attempting to explain what had happened the night before.

“My child, you must contain yourself! It is not your right to seek pleasure in the marriage bed. Your duty to your husband is to bear him children, maintain the household and treat him as your lord and master, second only to God! We have been over this time and time again; you exceed your rights and tempt the Devil by doing so,” Father Bain pleaded, making a hasty sign of the cross.

“But Father, I love him! I’ve loved him for years! I’ve done everything to atone for my sins against his first wife - and all my transgressions since. And now God has granted me my prayers! And yet…”

Father Bain interrupted then, hoping to stem her hysterics before she made a scene in the street.

“Ungrateful girl! You begged God for this marriage and yet you complain after you have him!” He put his hand on her shoulder and took a deep breath to calm himself. He wished to lash this girl to the bone as he knew many had wanted to before him. But he repressed the urge once more and as a result, an idea came so suddenly it could only have come from God Himself.  

“Laoghaire, you must learn restraint. You did this before, with Simon, as I advised, and you must now do it again. It appears that you are not yet done with your penance. Lie with your husband as a broodmare would a stallion. Let him take his pleasure as is his right and seek no wanton passion - for that is the way into the Devil’s arms. That was the way of his first wife, and you have seen what happened to her. Branded a witch and cast out! Lost her child from hedonistic pleasures in Paris, or so I’m told, and _died_ before she could bear him children! No, my child, you must not go down that path for it is the way to HELL.” He stared down at this errant girl, willing her to heed his words lest she become the Devil’s own, like Claire Beauchamp.  

\------

Laoghaire knew the death of her first husband, Hugh, was the will of God. She had liked him well enough and he in return, though he’d left her behind at Dougal’s behest and died at the Battle of Culloden only months into their marriage.

Father Bain knew Laoghaire had not atoned for her role as the clan harlot - hadn’t earned the right to a loving husband. She needed to learn patience and restraint, prove herself worthy before He would give her another chance at love.

A few months into her marriage to Simon MacKimmie, she came crying to confession, body bruised and lip split, seeking guidance as to what she could be doing wrong.

“This is the Lord’s will, my child, acting through your husband,” Father Bain warned. “Listen to St. Paul and hold your tongue. God will send a sign when you have learned your lesson,” and he dismissed her. Weeks later, she found she was with child, and with no further beatings from Simon in the interim, she saw this as the sign she had been waiting for, and that Father Bain had been right.

In the years with Simon that followed, she learned to see the signs of God’s approval, indicating His pleasure at her hard work and devotion. She saw distant rainbows after a day’s exhausting harvest, heavier buckets of milk after making the finest batch of jam the day before. She taught the girls obedience and silence, and when they did well in their studies, God rewarded them with their father’s smile and a gentle hand. But after making mistakes - burning dinner or speaking at an ill-advised time - she learned quickly that God's (and hence, Simon's) wrath would be swift.

Laoghaire needed Simon’s hands to keep Balriggan as a working farm. Simon, in turn, needed a cook, a housemaid, a governess - and a silent, clean, submissive place to stick his cock. Many years went by in this arrangement, each taking care in their side of the bargain and never interfering with the other. Laoghaire did this out of deference to her husband and pride in her duties as wife and mother. Simon’s indifference to her in turn, however, was interpreted by her as his trust in her abilities.

On a fine spring day, the girls were up and out in the wee hours, picking herbs and wildflowers for the table. Laoghaire had been making breakfast that morning and picked up a pitcher of fresh milk with dough-greased hands. It slipped through her fingers, cracking open on the stone floor and splattering everywhere. Simon walked in from the barn before she could clean up, and struck her hard.

He grabbed her plait, half dragging her through the spilled milk, and shoved her towards the bedroom. “Wife, I’ve not yet had any food down my gullet afore ye wreck the place. Ye want to make a mess, eh?” He shoved her face down on the bed, pulling up her skirts and shift. “I’ll show ye the right way to make a mess, my pet.”

Her only thought was to hope that Marsali would come back soon and take the biscuits off the fire before they burned.

After he was done, he left on horseback for Lallybroch to discuss the purchase of another Murray cow, with no apologies or words of parting. Redcoats stopped him on the road and, being still in a foul mood, he fought with them. He was arrested and sent to prison without trial. She heard nothing for months until she received a letter from the warden that Simon had died there, alone and without her to care for him.

Laoghaire saw this as another working of God’s will, robbing her of a husband. Even as loathsome as Simon was, he still gave purpose to her skills as wife and mother - could provide and protect her in turn. Without him, how was she to keep the fields sown, harvested and turned? This was the primary means of income for Balriggan, and while she knew where Simon had hidden some gold - and she had stashed some away for herself at Ned Gowan’s insistence - she knew this would last a year at most.

A year became two, then three, then more, and she became desperate. She sold most of the cattle but kept the sheep and goats, being easier to manage. Laoghaire had too much pride to live off the charity of the other MacKimmies, Mackenzies and Murrays, or their various tacksmen. And while the help she accepted kept her and her daughters from starving, she knew she needed to find another husband. Only a man would be able to take charge, keep the field hands in check and deal with unethical seed men and unruly rams. Having a husband would give her a reason to get up in the morning. Her daughters needed a father to look up to.

She and the girls went to see the Murrays last Christmas. They knew full well that Jenny was aware of her history with Jamie and The Witch and did not think highly of her. Laoghaire brought a roll of fresh herbed goat cheese and some lavender oil as a Christmas gift, hoping that might smooth the conversation. In truth, she wasn’t aware that Jamie had returned to Lallybroch the year prior, but only sought Jenny’s knowledge of which tacksmen under the Murrays or Mackenzies might be a good fit for a twice-widow saddled with two daughters. She almost fainted when she saw the outline of Jamie Fraser looking into the fire in the drawing room.

And on that fateful Hogmanay, Laoghaire had found Jamie standing inside when she opened her eyes, a furtive half-smile on his face, and thought it the sign she had been waiting for. Father Bain had been right. She had atoned for her past and was now rewarded.

\------------------

She had been under Father Bain’s care since her grandmother’s passing. Over the years with him, the most difficult atonements were always to deny herself something she wanted. This was likely to be the most difficult of her life. She would hold still in bed and not reciprocate. She would show God she could resist and would await a sign from above that His will was done.

But as the weeks wore on after the wedding, she found herself no longer just ignoring her urges and suppressing all emotion, but actively flinching when Jamie touched her. She’d had a similar reaction before, in the latter years of her second marriage, when Simon made his advances. While he and Jamie were nothing alike, she saw flashes of Simon leering down at her, rather than the beautiful husband standing before her.

Sometimes, when she caught Jamie looking at her, she would start to smile back, only to promptly tamp it down, remembering her orders.Twice she found herself overwhelmed by his beauty and, still more, by her good and bad luck. As he hovered above her in bed, she sometimes broke down crying beneath him. She spent the rest of those nights lying awake, waiting for God’s approval. Only after receiving a sign would she allow herself to open her heart and fly into Jamie’s arms - but it did not come.

One afternoon, Jamie sheepishly offered to _help_ her with the _laundry_! Did he really think her so feeble and incapable of doing such a simple task that she would dare to ask for help? That’s what the girls were for! Did he think them incompetent, too? She chafed at the idea of being helpless and requiring his charity, wanting to tell him off for his insult,  but her vow to hold her tongue made it impossible. Instead, she turned on her heel and left, tears of frustration streaming down her cheeks.

A few weeks later, she walked in from the fields to the kitchen where Jamie had a pile of books on the kitchen table and was speaking quietly with Marsali and Joan.

“Jamie, what’s this?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Oh… Erm… I thought I might gauge the girls’ education; see if I could fill any gaps as they might have.”

“Ye ken I went to University in Paris?” he said to the girls with a raised brow and a grin. They, in turn, cowered in their chairs as they had when Simon had asked them a question.

Laoghaire swallowed her protest: that was her duty as well! She prided herself on her daughters’ educations. Marsali knew her multiplication tables and dear Joan knew her Bible backwards and forwards. She wanted to throw a book at his smug face, offended at the insinuation that her instruction had been insufficient, but the words of Father Bain rang in her ears, “You must learn restraint!” Tears, once more, sprung to her eyes and she retreated to the bedroom to cry in peace. He must truly think her a worthless teacher to treat her in such a manner!

She prayed and ignored Jamie’s attempts to supersede her place in the household. In bed, she let him do with her as he would, his attempts decreasing in frequency with each passing week and month, as she waited for the sign. And waited. And waited.   

But no sign ever came.

\---------

One night, after six months of this, as he closed the curtains and banked the fire, she overheard his whispered prayer, "Lord that she be safe. She and the child."

She wasn't sure if he knew he said it aloud, but didn't question it. The occasional prayer for his wife and child's safety in heaven (or hell, as she hoped) was all fine and good, but he began saying it nightly and this began to worry her. Then vex her. Then enrage her.

Despite her misgivings, Jamie was a good father to Marsali and Joan. He treated them well, sneaking them honeycomb from the bee gums. He taught them English to supplement the Gaidhlig they spoke at home and more mathematics than even Laoghaire knew. If this had been Simon, she would have considered this a kindness, but she was convinced Jamie was doing this to show her he was better than her - to usurp her position in the household. Determined, she remained silent and unyielding in her belief that God was testing her and that all she had to do was continue to keep her head down, submit and do good works.

It was now almost a year after their wedding and the spectre of the witch, Claire Beauchamp, grew larger with each passing day; Jamie now said the prayer not just at bedtime - but during the day, too: upon rising in the morning; when she brought him food at noontime. She would hear him reciting it yet again while he watched the sunset from the kitchen. Jamie now said “Lord that she be safe. She and the child” more frequently than she heard him speak the Lord’s Prayer, a truly sacrilegious thought.

As time progressed and these prayers increased, he seemed distracted. His lessons with the girls tapered off. He spent more time in the fields and barn, only coming indoors very late to eat and sleep. At first, she thought she was winning - that he was finally leaving her to what she did best: run the household. But he skipped meal times and long hours went by with him sitting under the haystacks or sitting atop the far fence line, unproductive and obviously lost in thought. He barely glanced at his surroundings, consumed by the inner workings of his mind for days on end.

But Laoghaire saw his distraction as temptation to the Devil. She witnessed the ghost of Claire Beauchamp in his backward glances through the doorway, as though he expected someone else to walk in the room after him; in the low rumblings of pleas spoken in sleep.

And now he wanted to leave her and go to Edinburgh.

\-----------

“Laoghaire?” he asked tentatively one day. “I’ve received word… A friend needs assistance wi’ his print shop in Edinburgh. I thought I might give him a hand.”

She was struck dumb.

Was this the sign she waited for?

And if so, was it for good or for ill?

Was it just an errand and he’d be back?

His tone of voice did not bode well. 

As these thoughts went whirring through her head, she remained frozen on the spot, her mouth open like a codfish, unable to determine what to say or do.

He took her silence for shock and anger and came forward to touch her shoulder in reassurance. She flinched and he noted tears forming and slowly backed away.

“I ken it’s no’ much notice I’ve given ye, but I’m to go today. I promise to send the money I make. I’ll no’ let you or the bairns starve.”

Laoghaire continued to stare at him. A single tear fell down her cheek. As his wife, shouldn’t she want to beg him to stay?

Jamie desperately wanted to comfort her but knew she would freeze or flinch in return and he would not inflict that on her. He turned to the window, looking out at the girls chasing each other in the yard.

“I’ve arranged wi’ the Murrays that they’ll send Auld Joe and Young Peter to keep the fields turning and the old bull on tether. And I’ll send Fergus as often as I can to make sure ye have anything ye might need.”

Jamie chuckled at the thought of Auld Joe, alone and blithely hooking a rope through Old Blackeye’s nose ring, while Young Peter hid behind a shed. But his amusement caught in his throat as he looked back to see Laoghaire covering her mouth with the back of her hand, sobbing silently.

He was caught. He felt overwhelmingly guilty for not being able to do his duty as her husband - to soothe her, assuage her, tell her everything would be all right. Instead, he did the only thing he knew would not upset her further and removed himself from her sight.

As Jamie walked out the front door, pack in hand, he called out to the girls who were now chasing the chickens, despite their mother’s warnings.

“Marsali? Joan? Will ye walk wi’ me for a moment?”

\------------

With every step towards the fence line, her outrage and confusion coalesced to stone. She was furious at her own stupidity at being led like a sheep to her current circumstances. She’d been looking for months for a sign and here it was: Jamie had left the kitchen, the house, the farm and her life. Nothing she had done in the past year had been enough. Jamie had shown he didn’t need a wife, or bairns or anyone to care for him. He would rather be alone, clinging to the memory of his dead whore than to stay with her.

Father Bain had been wrong: there was no penance due. God had cursed her. This was now her lot: to be alone, her bed cold and no one to warm her; no man to care for or to care for her.

Jamie had forsaken her. God had forsaken her.

She was done with Father Bain and his so-called penance. None of it had saved her from Simon’s lash in the end.

She was done waiting for signs and staying silent; it had only driven Jamie out of her arms.

She was done with God and His false promises of redemption. If God wanted to curse her, she would curse him right back. To hell with the promise of heaven if she couldn’t find any piece of it here on earth.

She cursed, swore and railed, remaining in the field long into the night, screaming herself hoarse and weeping until nothing remained.

Eventually, her daughters came through the field, hand-in-hand, to find her. Marsali held a lantern aloft, and they both looked at each other, aghast at the spent and broken wraith before them.

Joan spoke first, quietly: “Daddy said to leave you be for a bit. But to make sure you stayed safe.”

Marsali crouched and put the lantern down at her feet, taking her mother’s limp hand. “He said we must look after you now, Momma.”

Despite all the pain and heartbreak God had seen fit to inflict, Laoghaire had one thing left He had bestowed that she did not begrudge… well, two.

And they knelt before her: strong, proud and kind.


End file.
